


Titanic

by distractionpie



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Titanic Fusion, Character Death, Class Differences, Class Issues, First Meetings, I Will Go Down With This Ship, M/M, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Ship Sinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-14
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-11-14 01:46:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11197881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distractionpie/pseuds/distractionpie
Summary: The year is 1912, and the RMS Titanic departs from Southampton with 2225 passengers and crew on her maiden voyage bound for New York as David Webster hopes to savour his last days of freedom before he returns to family, duty, and society he feels stifled by.





	Titanic

**Author's Note:**

> Look guys, it's a Titanic AU. It's been 105 years, you know where this ends up and the warning is there for a reason.

The ship of dreams, that’s what people are calling her, but for David she is anything but.

His year in Europe has been the finest of his life. He’s received the education he promised his father he’d get, but he’s also revelled in the freedom that had come with being just another anonymous American. Mostly unchaperoned, he’s travelled in second class train cars and explored night clubs and independent galleries, kept more interesting company than he’d ever been introduced to back home, and made a man out of himself.

He’d meant to spend his days on the ship savouring his last breaths of free air before he returned to his family’s stifling embrace, but shortly before boarding he’d had a run in with a group of his father’s business acquaintances who upon recognising him had immediately invited him to join their party. David had little interest in cigar smoking or talk of finance but he knew well that should he be too blatant in evading their company stories of his ill manners would make it back to his father and there would be consequences.

His one consolation was found in Mr. Donald Hoobler, clerk and manservant to one of his fellow passengers and David’s one time childhood playmate. It wasn’t typically done to socialise with the staff of other travellers, but David had sufficient good breeding and youth that a little schoolboy folly was still permissible.

Don had already proven good company during their departure, although of course his employment and his status placed limits upon the friendship he could provide. The staff of first class passengers were placed separately and made use of the second-class facilities. Although Hoobler would spend as much time in first as his duties demanded, it would be poor form for either of them to let David’s need for good company disrupt his work.

In an ideal world, David would be able to enjoy the solitude of his cabin, and take to his books, but the run in with family acquaintances had quite put a stop to that plan. There was to be a grand dinner for their first meal aboard the ship, although as David understood it all of the meals were to be grand, and it would be impossible for him to remain absent without his actions being conspicuous.

And so he changes into full evening dress rather than simple a dinner jacket and he sits through ten tedious decadent courses while making polite small talk about markets and old-fashioned politics and markets some more with men whose minds were entirely devoted to their moneymaking. He’s hoping to make an escape afterward, but as the final course is being served the conversation turns to dancing and the ship’s inaugural ball – and several of his new travelling companies have their families with them. Families which include daughters of a certain age.

There’s no escape to be had.

He finds himself pawned off on one newly debuted daughter after another, and then through the grievous error of stepping on none of their toes is unable to step out without taking a turn with various new friends who comment on what a sublime dancer he is. Personally, he finds the whole thing tedious, but he was dragged along to enough soirees as a child to know the steps by heart. If he had his own way he’d never endure another of the dreadful things again, although he suspects it may not be up to him, especially if such parties are to the taste of the unfortunate young woman his mother intends to have him propose to. He’s grateful for her existence now though, as a way of ensuring that none of the women on the ship think to set their cap at him, although the strategy would probably have been more effective if he could have for the life of him recalled the poor girl’s name.

He’s worked up a thirst by the time he excuses himself, and he’s hoping to steal away, at least to the edge of the party, but instead he finds himself hustled into discussion by a man he vaguely recognises as part of the group he is now travelling with, and finds that he’s unable to politely extricate himself.

Holding court is one Mr. Roy Cobb, a man who is so clearly the worst sort of braggadocio filled new money. He seems to be absolutely overflowing with tales of his own business acumen and the outlandish profits he’s making by being -in his own words- ‘the only one man enough to properly handle those beastly colonials’. The men around them are nodding along, although David’s heard enough society gossip calling Cobb a drunk and a laggard over the years to be sceptical of the yarns the man is weaving. It would hardly be polite to call him out through, and it would be unwise to make an enemy when they’re to be in close quarters for the next week. The Titanic is large, but not so large as to be sure of avoiding a man.

David is sipping a fourth glass of champagne with a little more haste than is entirely befitting of a gentleman when his gaze catches on the face a man who is doing an even poorer job of covering his scorn than David is. Slight and sharp featured, strands of dark hair falling forward despite what is obviously the liberal application of pomade, he looks scant words away from laughing outright.

His eyes, earthy brown and brimming with mirth, catch on David’s with a look that seems to see straight through his careful affection of polite curiosity as if this stranger can somehow tell that David is as uninterested in this conversation as he.

Mr. Cobb wraps up another dull but self-congratulatory anecdote with a declaration: “You see, gentlemen, those clowns could never hope to match wits with me!”

“Oh yes, I’m sure if anyone could beat a fool at his own game, it's you,” David’s stranger says, in an accent that’s a little rougher than David was expecting to hear, and the men surrounding them laugh and toast Cobb, oblivious to how rudely those words might be taken. For a moment David wonders if the stranger merely misspoke to offer such a sly insult, but while their attention is off him the stranger catches David’s eye and is bold enough to wink.

David averts his gaze and drains his glass in a most ungentlemanly fashion and if he’s a little flushed and unsteady as the conversation continues, well it’s only because the drink is going to his head.

The conversations continue to be boring and David finds that he’s more attentive to the stranger’s expressions that the insipid chatter. His features are lively and whenever Mr. Cobb makes a particularly foolish pronouncement his lips curl into a scandalous smirk that is driving David deeper into his cups than is entirely appropriate in polite company.

David is quite sure they’ve never been introduced, but he thinks briefly of a world in which he could simply bid Mr. Cobb and his dull associates goodnight and instead keep the company of this stranger, make a real acquaintance between them and perhaps even acquire his companionship for the voyage. It would certainly make the days trapped in this gilded cage of a ship a little more interesting, if only he could escape from polite society to do so.

The conversation drags on, a few of the other men offering up likely false tales of adventure. Across the room, a bold young woman with incredibly poor taste has set to batting her eyelashes at Cobb, and several of her companions are surveying the group, albeit with rather less enthusiasm. Cobb makes an entirely ungentlemanly comment about the girls’ figures and then takes off in their direction, most of the other men following after him.

David, seeing an opportunity to escape their odious company, remains. As does his stranger.

“Don’t you wish to join them on the floor?” David asks.

“I’m not much for dancing,” the stranger drawls, with a shake of his head. “The ladies shall have to look elsewhere. To you perhaps, you seemed at home out there earlier.”

David is surprised the other man had noted him among the dancers, let alone thought to comment upon it. “I dance as much as is required in polite society,” he explains, “But I’ve done my duty for tonight.”

“Duty?” the stranger looks at him with a hint of mischief and something else. “You don’t find dancing with pretty girls to be a pleasure?”

David’s had a great deal of freedom in Europe and away from the scrutiny of the tightly knit society he was raised in and in the process has learned a great deal about reading a person’s intentions and interest, finding those discreet ways that a man might seek more impolite company, and this man isn’t being especially coy. Still, he is a stranger and David treads carefully. “One can find pleasure in one’s duties,” he says, “But I've no interest in the girls chasing the company of Mr. Cobb."

"Ah... Higher standards," David's stranger laughs. "Who is the dance partner for you then?"

David imagines for one brief moment what it would be like to lead this stranger onto the dance-floor, for David to take him into his arms and follow the steps without shame or fear, but the thought is madness of the worst sort and instead he turns away and takes a steadying breath. "I believe my dance partners are beyond my choosing," he says instead. "You know society girls, they might seem demure but in truth they arrange what they will, the asking is a mere formality."

David’s stranger laughs again, then says, “Well, they’re calling this the ship of dreams – who knows who you’ll meet?”

The ship... The ship is a subject David knows how to talk about and one that won’t lead him giving into to any inadvisable impulses. He's no real sailor but any keen fisherman knows a little about boats and it quickly becomes clear that his stranger does too, not just the showy newspaper quotes but the intricate details that makes David wonder if he's acquainted with the ship’s officers.

Time seems to go much faster then than it did during the dancing or the talk with anyone else. It wasn’t until the chiming on the clock alerted him that he realised the room had emptied out bar a few smoking stragglers who the stewards were ushering along.

As he and his stranger are politely escorted to the exit, he realises something. “I’m afraid we were never properly introduced,” David says. “Might I ask your name?”

He gets no answer though. A drunk crashes between them, knocking him sideways and two stewards immediately rush over to deal with the man and placate him. By the time David is done assuring him that there's no harm done and no need to make a fuss over such an accident and turned back his stranger has vanished.

*

The next morning, he rises early and manages to steal a few moments to meet with Hoobler up on the boat deck, while Don’s employer is sleeping late and has no need of his assistant yet.  David suggests breakfasting together but apparently Hoobler has already ate, having risen even earlier than David as a consequence of retiring at a more sensible hour.

They walk the boat deck, taking in the sights that seem more meaningful now they’re truly at sea instead of waiting in the port, and David relishes every breath of the sharp sea air. There’s something about the ocean that has always made him feel a little more alive, a little bolder and sharper and ready to face the world. Hoobler just laughs when he tries to explain it, but nods along when he talks about the majesty of the ship, ever patient with David’s flights of fancy.

“Yeah, and it's a good thing she is unsinkable,” he remarks, “I wouldn't like to try cramming all these people into those boats."

Glancing over them, David noted that they do seem rather sparse. "I heard she has more than she needs, the rest must be  tucked away out of sight somewhere. The collapsible variety might be stored indoors.”

“You know, I’m sorry I can’t be better company to you,” Hoobler confesses. "I'd much rather hear your boat facts then spend my days taking notes on the stock market. You'd think he'd take a break from business at least as long as we're at sea..."

“It does seem such a shame,” David agrees, for it has been far too long since he has properly partaken of the company of his boyhood friend, and he wonders if he could impose upon Hoobler’s employer to let him take off for the day when they arrive in New York. There are plenty of adventures for two young men to have in the city, even if they are constrained by their stations and society.  "Perhaps I should keep him company at mealtimes and encourage his drinking,” David suggests, “so that he sleeps late in the mornings and we can meet like this every day of the journey.”

Hoobler laughs. "Web, if you tried to match him in drinking I'm afraid you'd end up falling overboard. Anyway, even with me eating in second class you must be able to find better dinner company than him?"

“Well, I may have made at least one interesting acquaintance during last night’s dreadful event," David confesses. "I didn’t get the fellow’s name, but grand as this ship may be, we’re sure to cross paths again during the voyage, unless of course he spends all of his time hidden away in his cabin.”

“Was that not _your_ plan for the voyage?” Hoobler teases, “To lay abed with that stack of books from your luggage.”

“Yes, well there’s no chance of that now, lest I want potential business contacts to come calling and think me bone idle,” David says with a sigh. “So I had best hope that I do strike gold with company that’s interested in me for more than just a tie to my father and the firm.”

Eventually Hoobler has to depart and resume his duties, but David isn’t left alone. He breakfasts in the Café Parisien which has a more relaxed atmosphere than the dining saloon, grateful that nobody comments on the fact that he's keeping half an eye on the door, looking to recognise a face he doesn't have name to go with. Afterwards, he takes to the promenade deck, hoping the fresh sea air will sharpen his distracted mind, but it seems no matter where he goes he’s beset by people wishing to impose their company on him but offering no more than small talk or unwanted lectures upon business. Even when he retreats to his cabin he finds himself interrupted by constant door knocking and polite callers and so after lunch he decides to indulge his curiosity about the ship. He’s heard plenty of speeches and read a few articles of course, knows she’s the first of her size and the grandest on all the seven seas, but that’s all polished up newspaper talk and meant to sell tickets. What his stranger had told had been fascinating, has David craving more, but he knows better than to wait around hoping to run into him and so he ventures down into the ship until he starts to reach places of interest.

From the stark décor it obvious that this isn’t an area he ought to be venturing into, but he’s seen no crew-member or sign to expressly forbid him, so he presses on. He knows he ought to turn back, wandering about in steerage will more than likely end with him robbed, and wandering about in crew area could be positively hazardous given all of the operations that took place and exposed machinery, but he is ruled by his curiosity and manages to while away a good amount of time meandering the deserted corridors before he’s finally interrupted.  

The man he crosses paths with is clearly crew and even more clearly not expecting to encounter passengers this deep into the ship going by his state of undress, hardly decent to be seen in just a grimy sleeveless undershirt and shorts that leave his leanly muscled arms and fair skin bare but for the streaks of soot which cover him from his head down to his heavy work boots.

Stranger still, there’s something about him that strikes David as familiar, though he can’t place him, or figure out a single reason why he’d recognise such a man. “Terribly sorry,” he lies, “I was exploring the ship and I’m afraid I’ve become somewhat turned around.”

The man looks David over and then remarks, “You’re a long way from first class,” in a shockingly familiar voice.

David gapes, looking over him once more. The lines of his face at the same, through his hair is darkened by coal dust and his limbs look more scrawny than sleek out of the well fitted suit. Most significant are his eyes, icy and guarded, so different to how he’d appeared the last time David was in his presence. “You?”

“Me?” the man, says blankly, looking David over once more. “Oh… oh shit, you!”

Foolish as it is, David can’t help but feel a little slighted that this man, who for that brief period had been his fascinating stranger, didn’t even remember David’s face well enough to recognise him.

“You. You aren’t a passenger at all,” David declares. He’d not thought to question the lack of formal introductions between them last night, but now their absence, and the man’s disappearance when David had inquired, make sense.

“No,” he says sharply, “I’m a coal trimmer, and what of it?”

David was used to labourers being large men, and this man didn’t look anything like he’d expect someone in such employ. He thought it would take the build of an ox to haul coal all day as those men did, but since he rarely had to carry anything weightier than his typewriter case he was perhaps not an ideal judge of such things. Regardless, that was hardly his concern. “But you were passing yourself off as being a first class passenger...” he can hardly fathom it.

The man shrugs. “I had a bet with one of the stewards - he thought I’d be thrown out on my ear soon as I opened my mouth, but I know your lot. Let people get a few drinks in ‘em and all they see is the suit and somebody pandering to their ego.”

David raises his eyebrows sharply. “You gambled your employment on a bet.”

The man shrugs. “I knew I could do it.”

David stares. He's no gambler himself, but curiosity gets the better of him. "What did you win?"

“That’s what you wanna know?” is the incredulous response, but then the man shrugs and says, “Not much actually, a day’s pay. It was more about proving the point, y’know?”

Grudgingly David nods. Who hasn’t done a foolish thing in the name of keeping from looking foolish - hypocrisy being the nature of man. “What’s your name?” he asks.

The man scowls. “Why, so you can report me?” he sneers, “I don’t think so.”

David rolled his eyes. “If I went to the purser and complained of a crewman that had been masquerading as a first-class passenger and behaved rudely to me on top of that, I wouldn’t need your name, I’d just tell him the look of you and he’d have you hunted down,” he points out, perhaps a little more aggressive than he should be, but he’s maddened by this man, and feeling more than a little humiliated at having been so gullible to his ruse. Still, he adds honestly, “I was merely curious.”

The man looks doubtful.

“You offered the second most interesting conversation I’d had since I came aboard,” David confessed, and wasn’t that the worst of it? “Even if you are a liar.”

“I never actually lied, I just wore a fancy suit and people assumed,” the man protests, “And _second_?”

“Yes, second,” David says, because as fascinating as this man was, it didn’t compare to catching up with his old friend.

The man eyes him suspiciously before finally thrusting out a hand and saying, “Joseph Liebgott,” with the air of somebody not expecting a cordial response.

David nods, takes his hand and says, “David Webster, a pleasure to meet you properly,” and makes a point of ignoring the soot that’s smudged onto his palm and the cuff of his shirt when he withdraws his hand. He decides to be bold. The only thing Liebgott could possibly harm is his ego and he’s already damaged that plenty so David has little to lose by adding, “And I must impose again and inquire as to if you would be amenable to continuing our discussion on the ship’s structure and running?”

“I shouldn’t,” is the quick reply. “And I’ve gotta...” Liebgott nods sideways down the corridor as if indicating places to be.

“You snuck into the first class lounge, made inappropriate remarks about Mr. Cobb to his face, and _now_ you’re concerned with what you shouldn’t do?”

Liebgott stared at him for a moment and then laughs. “Well, when you put it like that... so you want to strike up an improper liaison?”

David swallows, his composure mostly holding out. His thoughts had certainly ventured in that direction the previous evening, though now Liebgott’s lie has been uncovered it’s clear that David hadn’t read him so well as he’d through, so it’s possible that Liebgott is thinking of a very different kind of improper and a far less scandalous kind of liaison. “I would be gratified to have the companionship of someone with such intimate knowledge of the ship,” he hedges.

“An intimate knowledge of the _ship_ , huh?” Liebgott says. “Most of you upper class types are only interested in the size and barely enough of the mechanics to impress young ladies who don’t know better.”

“I sail recreationally,” David explains, trying not to be flustered. “And I have an interest in boating of all kinds.”

“Really?” Liebgott says, with excessive surprise.

“Really. It’s hardly a shockingly uncommon pastime.”

“Oh sure,” Liebgott concedes. “Just… you seemed like kind of an indoor guy.”

“You of all people should know first impressions can be deceiving,” David says, although the words don’t come out as sharp as they could be.

Liebgott frowns for a moment before speaking. “The squash court,” he says, then explains, “That’s near enough where we’d both have business being. I’ve got no time now, but if you really want to you can meet me there after dinner.”

*

Dinner runs long. Again. This may be the beginning of a pattern. David finds himself trapped in an oddly tedious conversation with one Mr. N.S. Dike, who seems to have never possessed an interesting thought in his life and, David realises over the course of the meal, has the unfortunate habit of asking people questions and then failing to listen to their answers.

He’d planned to return to his cabin and charge, rather than venture down to the squash courts in full dinner dress, but he fears greater delay might lead Liebgott to assume that David has changed his mind about their meeting and depart.

When he arrives, Liebgott is waiting, a sight which alleviates a concern David didn't even know he had. He’s wearing a proper shirt and dark trousers now, and his face is washed although a closer look shows there’s still coal dust under his fingernails. He looks smarter than he did earlier that day, David thinks he would have recognised him right away if he’d appeared like this when they met earlier, for all that he has none of the gloss that had enabled him to sneak into first class.

David keeps the conversation light at first and Liebgott talks about life aboard the ship easily enough, he grows prickly whenever David strays too close to personal matters, but then, they are walking through public corridors, and it’s easy enough for David to stick to safe topics. “It must be exciting for you, to be working on ship like this. I mean, she’s wonderful.”

Liebgott rolls his eyes. “You might be seeing wonders, but coal tunnels are coal tunnels even on the jewel of the line.”

David admires his frankness, and finds that Liebgott grows bolder still with his answers the more David speaks of the ships’ marvels. He learns a great deal in only a short conversation, and though Liebgott seems unappreciative of his employer it’s by far the most instructive one he’s partaken in all day. When Liebgott claims the need to depart, David isn’t ready to be finished with his company. “I… perhaps we could continue this conversation tomorrow,” he says, “That is, if you’re available?” Liebgott seems like he would be amenable to further conversation, but it would be remiss of David to forget that, like Hoobler, Liebgott is here as an employee, with business which goes beyond David’s company.

Liebgott bites his lip and then says, “I’m off in the afternoon, but I’ve gotta sleep too so I won’t have long, hardly worth you venturing from the comfort of your cabin, I’m sure.”

“Oh the suite’s not so special,” David says, it’s a little more elaborate than the one he’d came to Europe in, but no better than a middling hotel suite. “If you could see it, you’d realise how boring it is.”

“A suite?” Liebgott says dryly. “I’m fairly sure if I was inside yours I wouldn’t be bored, but I really do have to go.”

As if on cue, there’s a distance chime of a clock and and Liebgott curses and hastens away, leaving David feeling wrongfooted once more.

*

He mulls over the encounter when he returns to his cabin and it’s still on his mind the next morning. He tries to keep from being distracted when he meets with Hoobler, his friend deserves better from him than that and he can hardly explain his uncertainties without raising the delicate subject of his proclivities. Still, when Hoobler departs David’s mind returns to Liebgott and the enigma he is proving to be.

While Liebgott had been playing pretend as a first class passenger he’d been bold with David, almost openly flirtatious, at least so far as he could be in such a setting, but with his true identity revealed he’s closed himself off, except for in a few brief moments when the persona seems to surface and the charm with it, and David can’t for the life of him ascertain if it’s because Liebgott’s interest that night was as much a facade as the suit or if it’s simply the barriers of class between them that keep him from openly expressing himself.

And if so, then David wonders how he can bring those barriers down, if he even should.

He dresses with deliberate casualness for their meeting, as best he can when he packed his luggage with high society in mind, in the hopes that diminishing that contract might put Liebgott more at ease. He could attempt to force a clearer answer from Liebgott but David can’t help but fear that if he pushes he’ll cost himself what little of Liebgott he has and so he makes his way down to their meeting point with caution.

*

When Liebgott arrives at their meeting place, David opens with a question that has been weighing on his mind and which shouldn’t cause offence. "For all my wanderings I still haven't found where the rest of the lifeboats are kept, do you know?"

Liebgott, in response, looks at him like he was stupid. "The lifeboats are on deck."

"No, the others," David says. "I know there are a dozen there, but hardly enough and I'd heard she has even more than she needs."

"More than she needs by law, Web," Liebgott says. "Not more than she has bodies aboard. Anyway, what are you counting lifeboats for? I'm sure there's better entertainment in first than that."

“She has less lifeboats aboard that would hold her capacity?” David asks, shocked.

Liebgott just laughs. “She’s maybe not unsinkable but there’s no cause to worry about lifeboats. She’s the safest thing on the seas and anyway, you sail. If we needed to put them in use you could just present yourself to the officers as a volunteer to row over to whatever ship they were transferring people to.”

He speaks so glibly that David feels foolish for worrying.

They talk a little longer and Liebgott lets himself be diverted from practical chatter to gossip about David’s fellow passengers and the rumours Liebgott has heard about the ship’s officers. Soon enough though, it’s time for him to go, the odd shift pattern that kept the coal trimmers from working too long in the heat also making it hard for him to snatch any length of time to himself.

“The same time tomorrow?” David asks.

Liebgott shakes his head. “Not with my shifts,” he says, “How about first thing?”

David contemplates it for a single moment, feelings stirred by the thought that Liebgott wants to meet with him badly enough to suggest an alternative time of his own accord, but as captivating as Liebgott is, David is reluctant to sacrifice what little time he has with Hoobler. “I can’t.”

Joe sighs. “I... oh well, to hell with it,” he says. “I’ll talk someone round so I can get away in the afternoon, there’s always people looking to trade, I could do with being owed a favour.”

David nods, something bright and dangerous bubbling within him at the thought that Liebgott would arrange his affairs to keep David’s company. Perhaps he hadn’t misread him as badly as he’d wondered.

*

David wakes slowly and in fits and starts, resisting the awareness as it creeps in in favour of wrapping his blankets around himself and trying to sink back into sleep. It’s not until he turns and catches sight of the clock on the wall that he rises with a guilty start, realising that if he sleeps a moment longer he’ll be late to his meeting with Hoobler. As it is he barely has time to wash his face and brush his hair, he’ll need to return to the cabin for a shave and to apply his pomade before he dares to show his face at breakfast, but he knows that Hoobler will be unphased by his impropriety.

When he apologies for his delay, Hoobler is entirely too forgiving, largely because his curiosity has been bent in another direction. "You aren't actually spending all your time squirrelled away in your suite, are you Web?" Hoobler asks. "Only I've heard a few people asking after you since you haven't been around anywhere, and the first class areas aren’t so big as all that."

“I’ve… ah… struck up an acquaintance with one of the crew,” he says carefully. “He’s been able to provide me with far more practical information about the ship than any of the stewards or newspaper articles offered.” David suspected that Hoobler had some of idea of his leanings and had never passed comment on the matter but it would still be foolish to be indiscreet.

Hoobler looks amused. “Ah-ha! On anybody else I’d think that look would be for a girl, but of course it’s the boat that’s drawn your eye,” he says.

David doesn’t correct him. He’s almost right, after all.

*

They meet again and as they walk through the narrow back corridors of the ship Liebgott pulls out a cigarette and lights it, then offers the pack to David who takes a surreptitious look at the packaging and declines, having never picked up a taste for cheap cigarettes.

“You haven’t kept seeking me out just to talk about boats,” Liebgott says, after a long drag. “Not when you exhausted everything I know by the third time we spoke.”

“You underestimate your knowledge,” David assures him. He still finds everything Liebgott has to share fascinating.

“You underestimate how much your face gives you away,” Liebgott counters, stopping and turning to face David head on. “I had an impression of your interest that first night we met, and it wasn’t for boats.”

“I have plenty of interest in boats,” David says, although he knows precisely what Liebgott is driving at. The same thing that he’s been wondering himself, the topic they’ve been dancing around since their very first encounter. “But if the topic tires you then you’re welcome to better assert your own interests.”

“I think I’ve been clear enough,” Liebgott says. “Unless your all your fancy education means you only understand things when they’re put in pretty words.

David is used to a degree of indirectness when discussion personal matters but there’s something deliberate in Liebgott’s evasiveness that makes him feel almost toyed with. “I’d hardly call you transparent,” he says.

Liebgott takes a long drag of his cigarette. “Really? Because what you want is written all over your face and I don’t think you’d be so blatant if you hadn’t figured I was the type to have no problem with that.”

As he speaks he sets the smoke slip from between his lips in a slow stream and David knows he stares longer at Liebgott’s mouth than is permissible under even the loosest definition of good manners, yet he can hardly tear his eyes away. They’re standing so close his heart races with it, so close as to be dangerous, but Liebgott is making no move to put distance between them and David may have been sheltered by his class but he’s not unworldly and when he finally jerks his gaze upwards, he recognises the look in Joe’s eyes, is certain it is mirrored in his own. He’s had his suspicions it’s true, hesitated because he’d been unsure if Liebgott would be open to an overture from him, not because he’d questioned his judgement in taking Liebgott for inclined towards men. The look now suggests that perhaps Liebgott is right, and all this talking really is unnecessary.

“Mr. Liebgott, Joseph…” he says, suddenly tired of veiling his meanings. “I... I wonder if you’d like to join me for a drink in my suite, where we might have some privacy?”

He knows he’s taking a risk by asking, but after all Liebgott has said he thinks he can predict the answer he’ll hear and so he’s taken aback when Liebgott balks. “I’m not going up there.”

David is certain he hadn’t misread the situation between them, but it’s possible he’s overstepped in suggesting his suite. There is an ocean between no longer being coy about their flirtation and having the man in his private rooms. Suddenly the racing of his heart and the heat surrounding him feel less like a thrill and more like an oncoming illness as he hastens to put some distance between them,  fearing he may have offered too much too fast, asked more of Liebgott that the man is willing to give. . “My apologies, I…”

“No I…” Liebgott shakes his head, reaches out and grabs David by the arm. “You realise I’d stand out like a sore thumb up there?”

The excuse is weak. “You managed just fine at dinner when we departed.”

“In a borrowed suit I don’t have anymore. And I got lucky to have pulled it off,” Liebgott corrects, “If any of the officers spotted me up there I’d be shark bait.”

David frowns. “You know sharks aren’t naturally predators of humans, they would leave us undisturbed if they weren’t so frequently provoked by human incursions on their habitats. Anyway, most species of shark aren’t found this far north, the water is much too cold-” he cuts himself off. He knows he oughtn’t go on, but Joe’s face has taken on the strangest expression – not boredom or frustration but something that David doesn’t think he’s ever seen before.  

“Come down to the cargo deck with me,” Joe says, apropos of nothing.

David blinks. "What?"

“There’s something, someplace…” Joe says, tugging David back into his orbit, his low voice rekindling the tension between them. “We won’t be disturbed.”

He has a tone that could make a man follow him to the ends of the earth, and so it’s nothing at all for David to bow his head and let Liebgott lead him deep into the ship.

*

It’s quiet on the cargo deck, except for the rumble on the engines.

Joe chose well in picking this place. Even in a private cabin David has just one thin wall separating him from his neighbours, but tucked away as they are, they have the barrier of several layers of storage between them and the rest of the world. The privacy lets them take their time, to explore and to savour, to linger where David is more familiar with rushing. Liebgott has more talent than any lover David has had before, but he doesn’t dwell on where it was learned, just on doing his best to return the pleasure in kind until the windows are fogged with the heat of their passion and they’re both breathless and spent.

David feels a little pity for whomever owns the motorcar they’ve crept into - but anyone who could afford to have their vehicle shipped across the atlantic can certainly afford to have it cleaned.

He’s looking at the window now, using the faint reflection in the glass to try and fix his hair, which is starting to curl, his pomade apparently no match for Liebgott’s fingers.

Behind him, Liebgott still lays across the bench seat, apparently unconcerned by the way his own dark locks fall into his eyes, possibly he knows how well dishevelment suits him. There’s something inexpertly elegant in his sprawl. Even in the low light his pale limbs look striking against the dark material of the seats, his head tipped back to show the faint red marks darkening his sharp collarbones-

“I can tell you’re staring,” Liebgott drawls. “You know, I ain’t got nothing you haven’t seen already.”

David rolls his eyes, turning back to face him. “That doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate your aesthetics.”

“What?” Joe says, rolling to one side and propping his head up with his elbow. David can’t but think that, in pose if not in features, he bears a more than passing resemblance to a model Webster once saw in a life drawing class in France. The girl was laying just like that, though she’d held the posture stiffly, her sole purpose to serve as an artist’s muse, whereas Joe is relaxed, comfortable in his skin and brimming with an easy sensuality that strikes David as far more inspiring. “Because if you really want to be appreciative you can come back over here and-”

“I was just thinking about how you’d look in charcoal,” he blurts out.

Liebgott rolls his eyes. “I get plenty of coal on myself already. If I’d know you had a taste for that I’d have saved some time and skipped the wash, but I might have got you dirty if I had.”

“I mean a drawing.” The thought of Liebgott’s rough hands leaving sooty marks scattered across his skin oughtn’t send the shiver through David that it does, yet he’s half tempted to tell the man to come straight from his labours next time, that there’s no snobbery about his work here and the only thing keeping David from taking him as he is, as he would be, is the thought of trying to think of a lie to cover coal dust on his shirt.

“I know what you meant,” Liebgott laughs, "But, what, are you an artist as well as writer?”

"Not much of one, I’ve just had a class or too," David explains. “When I was studying in France it was expected - figure drawing was never my favourite of the curricula but the models made the class popular with my peers.”

“No much of one?” Liebgott smirks. "I think I should be the judge of that.”  

"What?”

"C'mon Web, draw me like one of your French girls,” Joe says, arching his back in a dreadful imitation of a model’s pose that flaunts the delicate angles of his ribs and his narrow waist, such a contract to the whipcord muscles of his shoulders and arms, and on him is still alluring despite it’s foolishness.

"I mean it, I'm a dreadful figure artist,” David protests, mostly truthfully. Being able to appreciate beauty has never given him the talent to recreate it.

"I want to see proof,” Joe declares with a wicked grin. “There must be some paper here, I know you’ve always got a pen in your pockets.”

“I couldn’t draw you in _pen_ ,” David responds. “And I should think there are better things I could be doing with you than sketching.”

“Oh yeah?” Liebgott challenges.

“I’m sure I can come up with something,” David promises, already feeling reinvigorated by the thought as he slips back across the seats and sets out to thoroughly divert Joe’s attention.

*

David is suffering through the tenth of eleven courses trapped with the most tedious of company when he feels a shudder. It jars him, his water sloshing slightly over the edge of his glass and creating an unfortunate damp spot on his sleeve, but the startled hush that falls over the dining room doesn’t last more than a moment. The jolt is unexpected but nothing worthy of their attention - after all, they are aboard the unsinkable Titanic not some rickety tug boat and, as David knows intimately, they are in the best of hands.

Afterwards the gentlemen spend some time in the smoking room to take a nightcap, but when they finally rise from their seats, departing so that it may shut for the night, they’re interrupted before they can make their way back to their rooms by a steward who requests their presence on desk.

Several of David’s companions are badly off from drinking and begin to argue with the man, but curious as to what has occurred to cause this change in routine David breaks off from the group and makes his way up to the desk, where he sees that it is not his group but seemingly all the of the passengers who have been assembled, some of them even muttering about having been woken in their beds.

He walks across the deck to lean over the rail and look out over the dark waters. He can’t make out much, it’s almost a new moon and the lights of the ship don’t illuminate much further than it’s own edges. Indeed, even when the stewards start passing out life vests they’re unhelpful as to the situation. They claim it’s simply a precaution but David can’t help but think they wouldn’t have risked the ire from the reluctantly woken sleepers without good reason. It’s not terribly successful precaution either, since while a few people have accepted the jackets far more have refused or discarded them as an unnecessary nuisance.  

He casts his gaze over those assembled on deck and for a moment he can’t quite place what it is that disconcerts him so about it, but after a few moments the realisation hits.

Not one of the men and women assembled wears a cheap coat.  

He pulls aside a steward, who seems surprised David is even asking, let alone that he’s concerned. Once the women and children from first are off, it is explained, then they'll bring up second, and third - the ships listed procedure makes no mention of crew.

 _‘Off’_ he says, and across the deck there are crewmembers prepping the lifeboats for an evacuation, which doesn’t seem to David like a precaution against a minor hazard at all. There are risks in lowering the boats, he knows, and anybody with half an ounce of knowledge about the sea knew that it would be perilous to find oneself in a small and uncovered row-boat out in open water. The lifeboats were only to be put to use if the danger of staying aboard the ship were greater.

He could understand the need to avoid a crush or disorderly loading by not moving everyone at once, it would seem perfectly reasonable were they not going by class. A week ago, if he’d heard this was their method he’d have thought little of it but now that he knows there's not enough lifeboats he understands the words for the potential death sentence that they are. Third is mostly below the waterline - if the hull is breached below they're at greatest risk.

He forces from his mind the thought of Liebgott, whether he is in crew quarters and likely to be among the last to be evacuated or working the engines, down in the depths of the ship that would be first to claimed by the waters. It would do no good to lapse into hysterical thinking though, after all Liebgott was a grown man and could surely take care of himself. Yet his mind keeps straying as he makes his way down the side stairs to the lower decks of the ship. David doesn’t know how it is that Liebgott has come to occupy such a space in his mind, he’s attractive, true, and charming of course, wittier than most of the company David keeps, but he ought to be a passing fancy, after all, this shipboard dalliance can hardly last past New York, whatever David might dream of. There’s no reason for Liebgott to feel so significant, especially not when David is faced with concerns for his own safety, and for all aboard.

Most people seem calm as David makes his way down the winding route through the ship, confident that the situation is under control, but David doesn’t share their ease. His fear are confirmed as he reaches the lower decks to find water covering the ends of staircases, slashing first around his ankles and then towards his knees as he moves aft. The water is cold enough to make his skin prick and people are moving up and down the corridors in alarm. David passes several locked gates and stewards imploring the people behind them for patience.

He’s starting to think he should turn back, move to the upper decks where he at least won’t be in anybody’s way, when he hears a woman scream.

He makes his way in the direction of the sound, the water is already up to his waist here and he doesn’t understand why the crew hasn’t come down to assist these people to higher levels already. It was one thing to wish to avoid a crush by not letting them on the deck, but surely decency demanded they be kept above the waterline. Then again, if the crew already know that there’s no space of the lifeboats for many of these people, perhaps they’ve already given them up for dead.

The problem is obvious when he arrives, the woman standing with two small children on one side of the flooded stairway, which dips below the height of the rest of the corridor, while a boy of about six is on the other side, clinging to a stair railing.

The water is far too deep for the child and would come up dangerously high on the mother, but it’s not unsurpassable for a man of David’s statue.

He slips off his jacket, handing it to the woman who has wrapped her own shawls around her children. She'll need the warmth more than him, and the close cut that is all the fashion in New York means the thing would dreadfully limit his movements. The he takes a deep breath and starts to make his way across the corridor. The water deepens further as he wades over to the boy,  swirling around his chest and sending shivers through him, but within a minute he’s reached the boy. "Just hold onto me," he orders, "I've got you." The child is obedient, wrapping his arms around David and clutching tight.

He does is best to keep the child above the water and he's only a few yards from the end when there's a sudden sideward jolt and the boy abandons his grip on David’s vest and started thrashing wildly. The panicking boy catches him in the gut with an elbow and he falls.

Although he was already up to his chest, the chill as he is fully submerged still forces the air out of him and he flounders for a moment, his first attempt at standing causing his head to collide with something solid and unseen beneath the surface, before he gets his feet under him and rises, sputtering as he tries to cough up the cold liquid that he’d inhaled. His head rings as he scolds the boy to his senses, dragging him towards the steps and out of the water.

The woman snatches her son out of his arms, clinging to the boy for a long moment before she turns to David. “S-sir?” the woman says, in heavily accented English. “There’s more beyond this corridor. Folks we know, who don’t swim so good. The stewards said they were sending someone...”

“I’m sure they’re on their way,” David reassures her. “But I’ll go take a look at the situation.”

As he makes his way through the back corridors he sees a few other people. Mostly it’s the women who are struggling, long-skirts that hinder their movements become more of a disadvantage than ever now that they’re weighed down with water. He offers several his arm, guiding people to stairways, and occasionally carrying the smaller children above the water.

The lower corridors are finally emptying out and he’s standing near the door of the third class smoke room a deck above the flooding when he sees a familiar face at the end of the hall. "Liebgott!" he calls out, then softer, "Joe?"

Liebgott's head whips around and for a moment his eyes search the crowd blankly before finally settling on David. He's suddenly, foolishly, conscious of his appearance, without his jacket and soaked through and shivering slightly in a cramped third class corridor. Though Joe hardly looks better, his undershirt is both sooty and damp, and his wild-eyed stare is little comfort as the other man elbows his way through the crowd until he can grab David by the arm, his palm burning hot against David’s chilled skin.

“What are you doing down here?” he hisses. “This is hardly the time for more of your exploring. You should be in a lifeboat, or at least up on deck in line."

"I’m helping. And we both know there isn't enough space,” David says, lowering his voice so as to not bring that fact to the attention of the people nearby. “There’s still women and children down here. _Children._ ”

"I thought you'd be safe," Joe says quietly, then sharper, "Don't tell me you've forgotten what I told you about them needing rowers."

He hasn’t forgotten but as much as he’d like to believe all his fellow passengers are gentlemen he fears it more likely that if he were to do such a thing without sufficient discretion it would lead to a clamour of schoolboy rowers all trying to make similar claims in order to assure their own safety. Regardless,  "Any man with half an ounce of sense can row," David points out. “And there are plenty stronger than me. What do I have? Money? A family name? Why should I get off when there's others more deserving."

Joe scoffs. "What the fuck? Web, this is no time for that kind of pretentious talk! This isn’t some dramatic novel where you can play the hero down here with the common folks - you shouldn't be here."

David bristles at the implications. He doesn’t want to think that he’s doing this for his own sake, that taking action distracts him from his fear is beside the point, and anyway, "You're still here, aren't you?"

“That’s different,” Joe says, "I had a job to do."

"Well I have a moral duty,” David says, the words that he’s been repeating in his mind to keep the creepy anxiety at bay.

Joe looks dubious but David ignores that, pulling him aside to ensure they absolutely aren’t at risk of being overheard before he asks, “Is it really as bad as they say?”

Joe sighs, then nods. “We have an hour, maybe two. We did our best to stop her up, but she’s going down fast.”

“What are you doing now?” David asks.

“I’ve been dismissed from down below, they have enough coal, but I’m still crew,” Joe says, pulling away. “I’ve gotta help, sweeping the corridors for stragglers and all. But you should get up on deck, this floor won’t be dry much longer.”

“Joe...” David stars but Liebgott shakes his head.

“I might only be a goddamn trimmer, Web, but I’m crew which means right now I’ve got the authority to give you orders,” he says. David isn’t sure that’s strictly true, but he doesn’t know enough of nautical laws to contradict it, so when Liebgott gives his demand - “Now go up to the deck and keep yourself safe,”- he acquiesces.

They separate and as David turns around he sees that the group have been joined by a pair of stewards, who’re getting the crowd sorted out. He really is unneeded here so David slips away, cutting up back routes he’d found during his wanderings until he reaches the upper decks once more.

His shivering has finally ceased although doesn’t feel particularly warmer as he steps back out into the open air. There’s a noticeable tilt to the ship now. Nobody is promenading or fretting over their luggage anymore, just making a frantic clamour towards the boats. He takes a little solace in the diminished number of women or children as he pushes through the crowds, although he can’t help but wonder if there are more cut off down below. Still, there’s little he can do that wouldn’t simply be getting in the stewards’ ways.

He’s pacing the deck, unsure of what to do with himself, when he sees another familiar form. “Hoobler!” he calls out and Hoobler spins on his heel, face splitting into the only bright smile on the deck at the sight of David.

“I found you!” he calls, as he hurries over. Then, “Why are you wet? Is it that bad already?”

“I fell, is all,” David assures him, “Where’s Mr. Smith?” He’d rather thought that Hoobler’s employer would have called upon his assistance in the present circumstances.

“Gone,” Hoobler said, with a resigned shrug, “They were loading men on the starboard side earlier, where they couldn’t find enough women and little ones, so he went off with his wife.”

David frowns. “If you were there and they were boarding men then…” he starts. He knew first class were being loaded first, but surely the men loading the boats couldn’t be so callous as to let Hoobler’s employer get to safety but turn the man away for being staff?

“Nobody knew where you were,” Hoobler says, looking at him with concern. “A few thought you were still in your suite, and Mr. Evans said he’d seen you come up after dinner but then but you’d gone back inside. Where _were_ you to get into such a state?”

“I… I was checking on the situation below,” David says, feeling suddenly foolish.

Hoobler lets out a little laugh, “Looking for your crewman?” he asks, in a voice that would be worryingly knowing where it coming from anybody Webster trusted less.

“No, just- Wait, you looked for me?”

“Ff course,” Hoobler says, like it’s obvious that he’d hang back for David despite the danger.

“I’m sorry,” David says, guilt wrenching at him for keeping his old friend in this mess. “I didn’t mean to...” to concern him or to keep him back, to endanger his oldest companion in such an unforgivable way all for his own foolish curiosity and need to meddle.

Hoobler just smiles. “What are friends for?”

David resolves then that he will see his friend safely off the ship. If he’s unsure of his own deservingness of a place on a lifeboat, it’s only as much as he is absolutely certain that Hoobler ought to have one. It’s men like him, good men, kind men who will build the future that this ship makes David dream of, their decency matters more than brains or money or power.

They stick close as they work their way through the crowds on deck, although it’s hard to keep close when the mess of bodies is tugging them in all directions. Having Hoobler by his side bolsters his reserves though, giving him  the focus he’d been missing.

He makes for the departing lifeboats, not because he holds out much hope for getting Hoobler onto one, or that he’s sure he has it in him to board even if he were permitted, but because they are the nexus of the activity on deck, and he needs a better understanding of the situation before he tries to proceed.

A few hours ago David might have been quicker to judge the men who seem to be doing whatever it takes to get themselves into a lifeboat, but with Hoobler by his side his sense of urgency is renewed and he finds himself a little more forgiving of their desperation. The selfishness of it is still wrong but what else is there for them to do in a situation like this, when most of the men pushing their way across the deck are all but powerless.

He ought to be relieved to see that there’s still some attempt at discipline occurring aboard, but as he and Hoobler stumble their way to to the boats all he feels is trepidation when he sees one of the officers pulling his gun. The fear worsens as he David watches the man levelling it at the crowd with shaking hands, something wild and panicky in his eyes that David is clearly not the only one to recognise since all of those who witness it fall still and silent.

He means to speak, to offer the man assurance or aid, to hold onto the values he was raised to but the words just don’t come. Those nearest sense the severity of their situation, but further back there is still pushing, a surging throng of panicked men knocking those ahead of them forward in their desperation, and it happens in a split second, a stranger knocking into Webster and Don.

David keeps his balance.

Hoobler is knocked forward, staggers perhaps a pace and a half forward before the gunshot rings out.

For a moment David can’t believe what his eyes are telling him, but then he drops to his knees of the deck, hands pressing against Hoobler’s chest and the rush of hot blood over his fingers confirms the horror.

Hooblers eyes are wide and he’s babbling wildly about how it hurts, gaze unfocused as David presses his hands against the wound, the hot rush of blood sparking pins and needles in his numb fingers.

“It’s going to be alright,” he lies, “Y-you’ll be fine.” The wound is severe and even if it wasn’t it would do him no favours in the growing chaos of the sinking ship. Hoobler had never stood a great chance of making it onto one of the lifeboats and a man wouldn’t last long in these freezing waters, and injured one even less so.

Around them people are pushing again, there’s yelling, screaming maybe, but the only thing that David can hear are Hoobler’s gasping breaths. Something knocks against his own head but he’s more concerned with keeping his hands in the wound. There ought to be a doctor aboard the ship, he’s sure that there was one, but what hope do they have of finding help now.

“W-Webster...?” Hoobler is gasping. “Web, Web, I’m sorry...” and David doesn’t know how to soothe him, how he can promise him anything that isn’t a lie.

“Don’t be. Don’t ever be sorry to me, I’m here,” he says, all he’s got to offer. “Don’t worry, you’re not alone, I’m here.”

Hoob opens his mouth, but no words come out, just a horrible rasping, gasping breath that’s followed by silence.

“Hoobler?” David says, begs, “Don?”

There’s no reaction but it could just be shock. He doesn’t want to stop pressing down on Don’s wound but as the silence drags on he needs to know, pulling one hand away and feeling frantically for a pulse, hating the dark red streaks his bloodied fingers leave across Don’s throat.

He can’t find a heartbeat, but anatomy had never been his strong suit and so he bends his head, pressing an ear to Don’s chest, hoping to hear what he can’t feel. The wound is still spilling hot blood and it’s soaked Don’s shirt, is seeping through and he can feel it on his face as he holds his head in place and waits with baited breath to hear a heartbeat.

Seconds tick by.

There’s some fuss around him with the officer but David doesn’t even register it, trying helplessly to shake life into Hoobler’s unmoving body until finally two men in the crowd take him by the arms, pulling him roughly to his feet.

He fights, but his hands are blood slick and useless as they drag him away, finally depositing him on the deck out of sight of Hoobler’s body. He wants to go back, but when he tries to stand he finds his legs are shaking.

He doesn’t know how much time passes before he manages to get his feet under him, only that he can’t seem to regain his sense of direction, much as he wishes he could be by Hoobler’s side.

He wanders the deck, buffeted by the crowd and uncertain of how to proceed. The cacophony of noise makes his ears ache and he’s stricken by the temptation to re-enter the ship, to find some quiet, dark place where he can shut his eyes and find peace. Around him there are people running back and forth, though David can’t quite think of why where there’s nowhere for them to go.

There are still a few giving aid, but the mood on deck has shifted from that of calm evacuation to a selfish sort of chaos and when a tall man in a frock coat knocks into him David doesn’t catch himself as he stumbles, topples to the deck  and just curls there like a frightened child.

He watches legs pass him by, catching snippets of conversation, nonsense, and prayer. People call out for god or for their mothers or for salvation.

“David!”

The sharp cry of his name pierces the fog in his head, although it takes him a few moments to recognise Joe running towards him.

“What happened?” Joe sounds frantic and furious and it takes David several long moments to understand his behaviour, even as Joe stoops and presses his hands up against David’s bloodied shirt, searching for a wound that isn’t there.

David opens his mouth but the words don’t come, there’s none that could do justice to the friend he’s lost so foolishly.

“You... you were below?” he asks instead, trying to swim through the fog of confusion to make sense of Joe’s presence. He had a duty to do, to protect his friends like David has failed to, to keep things going and buy them the precious minutes of survival he could. Not that those minutes would do Don any good.

“Now the last lifeboat is off, the captain has called every man for himself,” Joe says, which explains the changed atmosphere. There is no hope of salvation now.

David reaches out and grabs his hands, bringing a halt to his searching for a wound that exists only in David’s soul, unheeding of those around them as he does so. What does it matter what people witness, and what conclusions they draw? Likely they'll all be dead by morning. He leans forward, seeking Liebgott’s mouth but  Joe pulls away violently before their lips can even brush. “What are you doing?” he snaps.

“Kissing you,” Webster says, kissing him before their time runs out.

“We’re in _public_. Someone might notice.” Joe’s scandalised look causes wild amusement to rise in David’s chest and he laughs, too loud, but uncaring.

“So what if they do see? Who are they going to tell - the fish? They can hardly hang us now.”

Joe’s hand catches him hard across the face with a sharp _crack_ that is lost among the sounds of the chaos on desk.

"You don't give up!" he snarls. “We’re making it out of here, and we won’t be the only ones.” There’s something wild and terrible in his eyes, that makes David want to hold him tighter, but instead he stands.

“I…” he doesn’t see any way for this to end well but he shakes his head and tries to think of a way to give Joe a fraction of the future he still seems to believe is possible. “You need a life jacket.” Near everyone is wearing them now, though David doesn’t know what happened to his own discarded one. Really they needed to keep Joe out of the water, especially when he was already shivering in the chill of the night air, but David can’t see how they’re going to manage that.

“Well then, help me look,” Lieb says, and David starts to move. There’s life vests everywhere, but only on people, still he follows Joe’s search across the deck.

He thought he’d seen chaos before but it was nothing compared to what surrounds him now, people screaming and clambering over each other to keep above the rapidly rising water

“Should we?” Joe says, waving a head to the men who are leaping from the sides and swimming after the lifeboats.

David shakes his head, clearing it a little. “They won’t catch up with rowers,” he says, or last long in the water. “We stay on the boat for as long as we can, it’s still the safest place.”

Joe looks skeptical and David doesn’t blame him. The ship is breaking up around him and the panicked crowds are a step away from trampling anyone who falls, but it’s the best of a series of terrible options.

The tilt of the deck grows steeper as they make their way to the stern until Joe has to reach out to grab at David’s hand, pulling him upward as his shoes lose their grip on the deck.

He lets go once David is steady again, but keeps grabbing at his sleeve as he guides David through the crowd, spotting openings David never would have, until they’re both pressed against the farthest railing of the stern.

The both grip it tightly, and David knows there’s nothing more they can do but watch and wait as the deck tilts ever further and the drop lower into the water. One moment they are illuminated, and the next the lights go out. There’s a swell of panicked screams but they’re nothing when compared to Joe’s low cry. He knows them, knew them, David realises, those men who have worked to keep the lights on in these final hours, good men, brave men who would have ceased in their labours for only one reason.

He wants to reach out, though he can do nothing to ease Joe’s pain but there’s no time.

There is a horrible creaking sound, and then, with a shudder, the boat splits in two. He shuts his eyes, bracing for impact as they go crashing back towards the water but they’re low for only a moment before the deck begins to tip again, this time with haste.

David reopens his eyes, but turns his head, unable to face the sight of people falling down the deck as it lurches upward. He feels Joe’s arm wrap tight around him, and instead of feeling comforted he just feels sick, all too aware the Joe wouldn’t make such a gesture if he weren’t more afraid of their situation that the consequences of being caught.

He grasps Joe’s hand, tugging it back toward the rail. “Hold on,” he says, voice sounding hoarse as he tries to push past the fear to make himself loud enough to be heard over the screams around them. He presses down on Joe’s hand, making sure his grip is firm. David has already lost one person to trying to look out for him, he can’t bear the thought of Joe holding onto safety with only a single hand because his other was occupied with protecting David.

Beside them a young man, barely more than a boy, begins to climb over the rail, and David sees at once what he’s doing. He can’t seem to coordinate his own numb limbs, but Joe has the same idea, climbing to the outside of the ship and dragging David with him. David gets over the rail just moments before the ship settles vertically, and for sickening lingering moments David wonders if they’ll tip over but then they start to sink, his stomach hitting his heart with the rapidity of their descent.

As the water hits the rail below them Joe reaches out and grabs his hand again and this time David doesn’t pull away, grips with everything he has as the water rushes up around him and they they’re under.

Everything is dark, and suddenly quiet, the screams of their fellow passengers muffled by the water. It’s cold, but not the shock he was expecting, simply the numbness he’s already been feeling in his limbs spreading to his core.

He feels weightless, floating in the dark and quiet without feeling anything, his heart no longer pounding with fear but there’s a grip on his hand, dragging him upward and squeezing his fingers painfully tight and he remembers Joe, Joe who has been by his side in this nightmare, who is holding onto him and whom David must be dragging down, and he reaches into a well of strength he didn’t know he had, forcing past the numbness to _kick_.

He breaks the surface gasping, is nearly pushed back under when a piece of debris washes over him but Joe’s pulls him close, holding David about the surface as he takes gasping breaths, letting the biting air flood his lungs.

“You’re safe, Web.”

David feels it. Despite the frigid waters and the screaming, the darkness and the sight of people pulling each other down in the thin sliver of moonlight, he’s safe in Joe’s arms. For a moment, they rest in a floating embrace, but then Joe gets agitated, trying to swim although there’s nothing to swim to.

Still, David follows him, kicking through the water until Joe comes to a halt, grabbing onto one of the larger pieces of debris, a door.

“H-here, we can g-get on it,” Joe says, reaching over until he can pulls his upper body over the wood, then rolls onto it. “C’mon,” Joe thrusts his hand out to David, but David shakes his head, water splashing about his ears.

“No, it won’t work.” David remembers college lessons on physics, mechanics, mathematics, he couldn’t explain the specifics but he knows just from looking at the door that if he tries he’ll only tip it.

Joe grabs at him. “Y-you’ll fit.”

Fit, he might, but float? “You’re half sunk already,” David points out, slapping a palm at where water is lapping at the edges of the door which tips precariously under just that small bit of additional pressure.

“Then you get on,” Joe says, already dropping his legs back into the water, “I’ll-”

David shakes his head sharply, drops of icy water flicking from the ends of his hair. “Don’t be _stupid_. Do you get a lot of opportunities to swim while hauling coal?” he snaps, and Joe rears back as if he is the one to have been slapped now. “I’ve spent almost every summer since I was small in and out of Hamptons private swimming pools,” he says, trying to keep his tone level and hoping that Joe will see reason, even as the cpld steals his breath away. “I’m the better swimmer. And I’m better dressed for the… for the chill.”

Joe scowls but his chattering teeth keep his arguments at bay, his shivering surely a sign that David is making the correct choice since he is barely affected by the cold.

He rests his head sideways on the wood and focuses on Joe, trying to ignore the terrible screams, and splashing of those around them. The desperate final cries of dying men abandoned to the depths.

"I-it's just gonna t-take them some-some time to get the boats organised... t-to come back," Joe says, but Webster can see in his eyes that he's lying. They won't be coming back. Rescue ships might come eventually, but Joe is exposed up on the door and David fears they won’t come fast enough.

Still, he nods, keeping up the lie. “I... I’m drafting a strongly worded letter,” he says, running his hand over the door. “Look how plain this is. One really expects better decor with a first class ticket.”

Joe laughs shakily. “R-right, you r-rich boys...” he starts, then shakes his head. “Damn, but I n-never met anyone like you before.”

“Clearly,” David says, “you haven’t been sneaking into the right sort of parties.”

“G-gonna tell me w-where to go?” Joe whispers, “Y-you and me, in N-new York, we’ll t-tear up the the town.”

“New York,” David echoes. There’s places he’s only heard whispers of, places where people like him could do as they pleased, and he’d never dared go but with Joe by his side he could be brave.

He pictures Joe back in the suit he’d worn the first time they met, them stepping out onto a dance-floor with him without a care in the world, him free to pull Joe into his arms and hold him as the whole world stepped around them.

Joe's hand is clammy in his and he keeps trying to grip so that he can feel Joe squeeze back, counting the time. When he doesn’t feel an answering clench he draws in a shuddering breath, calling out in a hoarse whisper, “Liebgott... Lieb...?”

A hand touches his head, shaking fingers sliding through his hair in a gesture that feels familiar even though they’re only been so intimate once. "You're safe, Web," he reassures again.

David nods weakly, and lets his eyes drift shut under the weight of the frost settling in his lashes, trusting that Lieb will keep his look out for the lifeboats.

The water is lapping icy at his face, splashing up his nose and into his ears with every roll of the waves but he finds it doesn't bother him all that much. The feeling isn't intrusive when he's so waterlogged already. It's just water, after all. The night is quieter now, the screams faded out, and he feels weightless once more. He always did like the ocean at night, how peaceful it was. It had relaxed him since he was a child and now he holds onto that light feeling, the promise of safety and calm.

Joe's hand feels loose around his, or perhaps it's his own grip loosening. He tries to tighten his grasp but his fingers don't seem to be responding and he can’t find the strength to call out. Joe has to be safe though and the lifeboats are coming, if David strains his ears he’s certain he can already hear the sound of oars cutting through the waves. There might even be people who know him aboard them, or who recognise Joe from the departure party, though with company like that they could be better off staying in the water. The thought makes him smile. It’s been so long since David has really got to swim - there was a pool aboard the ship but he’d never ventured down to it, never been fond of enclosed public pools, their stifling heat and stagnant water, not like the natural pull of the open ocean.

He thinks he hears birds and, more distantly, Hoobler’s voice calling out to him. It's comforting to know his friend is safe. He ought to swim to him, can’t leave his former playmate abandoned here in the dark, but when David tries to move his legs he finds them uncooperative. He’s tired, tired and warm and aching to rest. It’s so easy to let his muscles go slack when he’s floating, to embrace the peaceful sensation, and sink deeper and deeper into that feeling until he feels nothing at all.


End file.
